


Words of Wisdom

by theclaravoyant



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Director!Daisy, Future Fic, Gen, canon compatible
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-07-24 09:19:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7502805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theclaravoyant/pseuds/theclaravoyant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daisy's nervous about her promotion and Fitz reassures her. Hurt/comfort, fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Words of Wisdom

**Author's Note:**

  * For [agentcalliope](https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentcalliope/gifts).



 

“So, the blue or the black?”

_Don’t say ‘um’ out loud._

“The…black, please. Thankyou.”

“Of course. And in the pocket?”

She looked over the selections.

“Um…” _Damn it._ “Maybe blue or white?”

_Be decisive._

“I mean, white. Please.”

The designer and accessoriser glanced at each other and Daisy was tempted to wring her hands. She could only hope she wasn’t the latest in a long line of Shield leaders they’d worked for…and she could only hope she wasn’t the most royal disaster thus far.

“Handkerchief or flower?” the accessoriser asked.

_Be decisive._

_Rely on your advisors._

_Be decisive._

_Rely on your advisors._

“Surprise me. I trust your judgement.”

“The flower, then.” A crisp nod. “It gives a feminine balance to the masculinity of the pantsuit. And have you spoken to the hairdresser yet?”

“She’s putting something together.”

“Excellent.”

Daisy smiled uncertainly as the two of them had a whispered conversation. She wasn’t used to having people dress her and she was not a fan. Plus, she doubted anyone had tried to dress Coulson or Fury, and on any other day, that thought alone would have riled her up. As it was, she felt a little dizzy and sick. It was finally starting to sink in, as the decorators and caterers all checked their notes in case there was something more to ask her.

The strangest thing – of many strange things, not least of which being that today, choosing the cake flavour apparently had higher stakes than choosing a weapon – was that she’d felt quite ready for this until today. Now that it was happening, there was so much advice flooding in on her that it was impossible to make sense of it all.

_Be decisive. Be open-minded._

_Be confident in yourself. Rely on your advisors._

_Be masculine, but not too masculine, you’re a woman._

_Be feminine, but not too feminine or they’ll think you’re weak._

_Be tough. Be kind._

_Be a leader. Be relatable._  

It all seemed so contradictory. Her head had barely stopped spinning since she’d got out of bed. She’d felt so ready, so full of determination and pride, until May and Coulson had arrived. This was happening. The torch was being passed. To her. It felt like it was only just beginning to occur to her, the size of the shoes she had to fill.

 _“Get it together, Daisy,”_ she scolded herself through gritted teeth, trying not to accelerate beyond reason or crack the marble halls around her as she made her way back to her office. She needed a drink, and her fireplace, and her laptop, a-s-a-p.

-

She pushed open the door, but before she could so much as sigh, she noticed someone standing before her fireplace. Her sigh turned into a groan, but then a grin, as she recognised him.

“Fitz?”

He jumped, and turned. Daisy snickered with laughter.

“What?” He checked himself up and down, and Daisy bit her lip.

“Sorry. The stubble,” she insisted, pointing as she tried to contain her reaction. “I forgot about the stubble. Does that even count as stubble anymore? Or are you growing a proper beard?”

Fitz crossed his arms and stuck up his nose.

“It’s stubble. I’d never grow a beard. And Jemma likes it, so-“

“Yeah I’ll bet she does. Makes your cheekbones look all refined and badass.”

“My cheekbones are perfectly badass on their own.”

“Ok Mr I-Have-The-Body-Of-A-Twelve-Year-Old.”

Fitz huffed.

“Honestly. Do you two record everything I say?”

“There’s a whole basement level dedicated to the transcript of your life,” Daisy confessed, and rolled her eyes. “No, seriously, it’s good for you. Little self confidence, little sexiness, a little facial hair is good for you. But just a little. Let me know when I have to start production on the patched-elbow tweed blazers you will inevitably wear.”

“I hate blazers.”

“But you don’t hate tweed, you perpetual grumpy grandpa you.”

Fitz rolled his eyes, but surrendered his comeback when his fingers met a grey cardigan, under which he had a checkered shirt, under which he had a round-necked T-shirt. The elbows of at least one of those things probably needed to be patched up, if he was being honest. If only he didn’t hate shopping so much, he wouldn’t have this problem – but he did, so he was not going to mention anything of the kind to Daisy lest she ditch her ascension ceremony to forcibly update his wardrobe.

Daisy grinned, teasing as she watched him concede the point and resume a haughty expression. She ambled over to the drink cart, and offered him a scotch and he nodded. As they said down together on the slightly-ridiculously-large lounge before the fire, Daisy clinked his glass in salute and changed the subject.

“So where’s Jemma?”

“Addis Ababa, at a UN conference. Something about a HIV cure, I think. She’s getting in later tonight. She’s been on planes for the last month, saving the world while poor little old me sits at home. All alone. I’m starting to forget what her face looks like.”

He sighed, and gazed into the fire melodramatically. Daisy mimicked his forlorn expression, and pouted as she prodded his attention back to her.

“So that’s why you came early, then? Your girlfriend’s rejecting you?”

“My girlfriend’s rejecting me _and_ I thought my best friend might need some support. And I miss Boston. But also the friend thing.”

“You’re the worst.”

Daisy sighed, the levity of the moment wearing off as her eyes dropped to the gently quivering surface of the scotch in her hand.

“Yeah, I’m nervous,” she confessed. “I’m accepting leadership from May. _May._ I mean... _May.”_

She looked at Fitz, desperate for a sign of understanding. His expression softer now, he assured her:

“She wouldn’t let you take it on if she didn’t think you were ready.”

“I know that, and I thought I was ready, but I couldn’t even choose between two different coloured flowers today. How am I supposed to choose whose life to save, you know?”

“Yeah, but you don’t think flowers are important. Lives are. You’re distracted, you’re anxious about the job, _because_ this is important to you. You’re not nervous about the flowers. Couldn’t care less about them. You know what’s important and you fight for it. You always have. In fact, that’s got to be one of the reasons May picked you.”

Daisy sighed.

“Yeah. I guess. I mean, I was ready. I really was, til today, and it’s all starting to get to me. Everybody’s saying stuff. Stand up, sit down, smile, be serious, none of it makes sense. It’s a mess. I’m a mess.”

She raked her free hand through her hair, and Fitz slid closer to wrap an arm around her. She sunk back into the couch, rolling into his embrace. Frowning, she pressed her face into his chest.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she mumbled. “You and your unexpectedly massive pectoral.”

“You’re welcome.” Fitz smiled briefly, before sobering and advising: “You’re not a mess at all. You know where you’re going. You know what you want. You know what to do. You’ve also had people advising you your whole life! And they never stopped you before. You hacked Shield from a van in an alley on a twenty-year-old laptop. You are so self-assured it’s honestly a little scary sometimes.”

Daisy lifted her head, to peer at his face.

“Sometimes,” he repeated. “But you also what it feels like to fail, and feel out of control, and you know how to fix it. And you know how to work in a team, and how to decide when the rules are important and when they have to be overruled. You know what you’re doing, and you know who to trust when you _don’t_ know what you’re doing. The two most important qualities in a leader. In my humble opinion, of course.”

“Aw, shux.” Daisy smiled, touched, despite her tone. She snuggled onto Fitz’ chest, letting her eyes droop as the warmth from the fire and the relief from letting her anxieties go began to drain the tension from her muscles.

“Naw.” Fitz smiled, and hugged her with the arm already wrapped around her, to ensure she didn’t slip from her position. As he felt her breathing steady, he began to sing.

“Soft earthquake, warm earthquake, little ball of fur…”

Daisy groaned.

“I hate you.”


End file.
